


The Living Ghost

by rowanix



Series: The Living Ghost [1]
Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: and more gay holly, and more skull, enjoy, i needed more locklyle, purely self-indulgent fluff honestly, so here, takes place right after teg, teg spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-31 10:53:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12130890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowanix/pseuds/rowanix
Summary: “I leave for one minute and you let me get nicked again.”“You were gone for a week!”“Yeah, whatever. Some friend you are.”Lucy comes home to find the skull missing. On their quest to get him back, Lockwood & Co. discover that the secret to eternal youth might not have been the only thing the Orpheus Society were striving towards.





	1. The Theft

“We should do that again sometime,” said Lockwood as we stepped, side by side, through the front door into the hallway of 35 Portland Row. “Maybe get a bite to eat or something.” He smiled at me, and that dazzling, mega-watt grin filled me with a familiar warmth. “Just the two of us.”

I smiled back at him, feeling my cheeks flush and my heart fluttering and the weight of the sapphire necklace pressed warmly against my chest. “Yeah,” I said. “I’d like that.”

We parted ways on the upstairs landing as he went to help George with painting and I went to drop off my coat in my little attic bedroom. I paused for a moment, my hand on the doorknob, trying to quench the little bubble of excitement in my chest; he probably wouldn’t be there, after all. It was still light out.

Still, as I pushed open the door, my eyes automatically darted towards the window, where I hoped to see the grey ghost of a youth, perhaps slouching against the wall. Instead, what I saw made my blood run cold.

The skull was gone.

I swallowed down the thick panic rapidly rising in my throat. I stood frozen to the spot, my eyes scanning the rest of my room. No, the skull’s disappearance was the only change.  

“GEORGE!” I called.

“WHAT?” came the reply.

I stepped out of the doorway to lean over the banister. “Did you… did you take the skull?”

George scratched at his head with the end of his paintbrush, inspecting his handy work and splatting paint on his bruised face in the process. “Why would I take the skull?”

“I don’t know! To experiment on him?!” My voice was rising in volume now, sounding frantic, though for some reason I couldn’t help it.

“And risk the possibility of him coming back and killing me?” said George. “No thank you!”

“But, then…” I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to think over the sound of my heart thumping against my chest. _He couldn’t be gone. Not again._ “Did anyone come in?”

“No, I went out.”

I stared at him. “What?”

“We ran out of paint… and biscuits.”

I was already charging down the stairs from my attic bedroom. “HOLLY!” I yelled. “QUILL!”

“They’re not in,” said George.

I halted halfway to the staircase that lead to the hallway downstairs and turned to him. “ _What do you mean they’re not in?!”_

George seemed a little apprehensive towards me now, but then I guess he’s seen me get upset many times, so he was right to be. “Calm down, Lucy. They just had to get more building supplies, that’s all.”

Lockwood came out of his room then, all kitted out in an old t-shirt and pyjama bottoms for painting in. He took in my frantic state and frowned in concern. “Everything alright, Luce?”

I ignored him, still interrogating George. “How long have they been out? How long has the house been empty?”

“I… I don’t know,” George stammered. I guess he was expecting me to throw or punch something any second, which I was tempted to do. “No more than twenty minutes.”

I turned and hurtled my way down the stairs, briefly registering the sounds of Lockwood and George chasing after me and of Lockwood imploring me to tell him what was wrong. I didn’t slow when I got to the landing. I tore my way down the corridor and threw open the kitchen door. And stopped.

Lockwood and George nearly rammed into me. “Lucy! What’re you…?” George started, but he stopped halfway through his sentence to stare across the kitchen, where our brand-new backdoor was hanging ajar.

Lockwood pushed past me and walked over to it, running his fingers over the gouges in the wood where a crow-bar had been used to force the door open.

“Great. Now we have to get _another_ door,” said George. “Do these criminals not even think about how much money they’re costing us?!”  

“Now’s not the time, George,” said Lockwood. He turned to me, expression serious. “Lucy, what’s going on?”

“I…” I started. I felt sick. How many times had I let the skull slip out of my grip? In my little flat, in the old underground, during the attack on Portland Row, Fittes House… And now, yet again, I’d let my defences down and the skull had been taken. Somehow, despite when we had first begun talking and I’d wanted to bury that stupid jar in the yard or chuck it in a furnace, we had become something like friends and, even if he didn’t come back, the thought of not having the skull by my side filled me with dread. He had saved both mine and Lockwood’s lives at Fittes house, at the risk of destroying his own source, and I couldn’t even keep track of one bloody skull! Some friend I was.

“The skull’s gone,” I forced out at last and, as I said it, a fire filled my chest and I felt adrenaline course through my limbs. I would get him back. For good this time.

Lockwood looked at me, taking in my set jaw and blazing eyes. I waited for him to tell me to stop being so ridiculous. To tell me that it was just a charred skull whose ghost might never even come back and that my attachment to it was absurd. But, instead, he nodded. “He saved our lives. We’ll get him back, Luce. Whatever it takes.”

I gazed at him, surprised at how willing he was to help me get the skull back, and he smiled back at me, with that light dancing in his eyes that thrilled for the taste of adventure.

Then George coughed and we looked away.

“Right, well,” said Lockwood, clearing his throat. “We’ll just wait for Holly and Quill to get back, then we’ll start making a plan of action!”

“Wait a minute,” George said. “First we’ve got to figure out who stole the skull in the first place. And why?” He sat down at the table and picked up a pen, ready to scribble down ideas on the thinking cloth.

“Whoever it was had to know about the skull,” I said. “And they knew where it was; nothing else has been moved.”

“It’s easy enough to see the skull in your window from outside,” said Lockwood. “But who would know the significance of it?”

“I think there are two pretty obvious suspects here,” said George. “Our old friends Adelaide and Leopold Winkman.”

“We did kind of kill Mr Winkman,” I recalled.

“Yep. And they know about your attachment to the skull,” said George. “The thing is, the Winkman’s are only usually interested in what they can sell, and the skull’s pretty much worthless now. No offense, Lucy.”

I chose to ignore that comment. “It might not be so useless. This morning I thought I saw it glowing.”

“Might just have been a trick of the light,” Lockwood reasoned.

“Either way,” I said. “No one knows it’s lost its psychic charge apart from us.”

“I think it’s rather likely that someone who knew what the skull’s value used to be commissioned the Winkman’s to steal it for them,” said George, scribbling on the cloth in his illegible handwriting. “The fact that it would hurt you personally would be an added bonus for them.”

Just then, we heard the unmistakable sound of the lock clicking in the front door. We turned to see Holly and Kipps entering the hallway.

“You’ve been gone a while,” George remarked.

“Well, Quill is still a little slow on his feet,” Holly replied, entering the kitchen so she could set her shopping bag down on the counter.

“You could have stayed here, Quill,” said Lockwood.

“I’ve had more than enough of sitting around,” said Kipps, easing himself stiffly into the chair next to George. “Needed some fresh air.” He looked around at us all and frowned. “What are you all doing, then? Conspiring to destroy another agency?”

Holly was eyeing me concernedly. “Are you alright, Lucy? You look a bit frazzled.”

“Actually, no, Hol,” I replied. “The skull’s been stolen.”

Holly gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Lucy, I’m so sorry!”

“How terrible,” said Kipps.

“Yeah, you sound distraught,” I said, sarcastically.

“Well, I can’t say I’ll miss that disgusting thing watching me eat breakfast,” said Kipps, and Holly cast her eyes to the floor in a manner that suggested she agreed with him. “But I _am_ sorry it’s gone, Luce. I know it’s your best friend and everything.”

“He is _not_ my best friend,” I said, glaring at him.

“No one’s judging, Lucy,” said George, grinning at me. “If your best friend is a ghost that used to live in a jar that’s fine by us.”

“He is _not_ my best friend,” I repeated, shooting my glare towards George then back to Kipps. “And we’re getting him back.”

“Oh, really?” said Holly, trying to sound enthusiastic and failing horribly.

“Yes,” Lockwood affirmed. “George reckons the Winkman’s took it, so I should expect it’ll be appearing on the black-market sometime soon. You know what that means!”

“No disguises,” I said. “I’m still reeling from that time you nearly got beaten up by that old northern lady cos you got Yorkshire and Lancashire mixed up.”

“They’re both from the North!” Lockwood exclaimed. “Also, that war was hundreds of years ago, why are they still holding grudges?”

“And that is precisely why she started beating you with her handbag.”

“Also, I really don’t think you should go infiltrating any more secret operations,” Holly chided in. “Not after we just took down the Orpheus Society.”

“In a manner of speaking,” said George. “DEPRAC haven’t managed to track them all down yet.”

“Exactly!” Holly continued. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re somehow behind the skull going missing. And if they see you at some black-market auction, I doubt they’re going to be friendly.”

“It’ll be fine!” said Lockwood. “We’ve managed before.”

“You nearly got killed both times,” said George.

Lockwood ignored him. “All we need is some extra good disguises. And I promise I won’t try any accents this time.”

“I’m sorry, Lockwood, but I agree with Holly,” I said. “Maybe you shouldn’t go. You’ve been all over the papers lately. You’ll be easy to recognise, even with a disguise.”

Lockwood looked crestfallen and I felt a little guilty, but not enough to let him risk his life. “I suppose that’s true,” he conceded. “In that case, Quill and I could wait in a cab outside, while the rest of you go to look for the skull.”

“We don’t even know where it’ll be yet,” Kipps reminded them. “You’re just assuming it’s being put up for auction.”

“Ah, yes,” said Lockwood. “I think you’re going to have to have a little word with Flo, George. See if she’s heard anything. Then…”

There was a knock at the back door and everyone gave a little jump, then Lockwood pulled the door open to reveal none other than Florence Bonnard, in all her baggy-clothed, grimy glory.

“Speak of the devil,” Lockwood said, smiling at her.

“Alright, Locky?” said Flo, sniffing and wiping her nose with a sludge-covered finger, which did more harm than good in my opinion. Flo looked over Lockwood’s shoulder and, ignoring the rest of us, gave George a grin. “Hey, George.”

“Hey, Flo,” said George, grinning back at her. “What brings you here?”

Flo shoved past Lockwood to enter the kitchen and lean on the counter, leaving muddy footprints in her wake that made Holly wince. “Just thought you might like to know those Winkman’s are apparently doing trading with the Orpheus Society,” she said. “Word is they’ve got their hands on a type three ghost. One that sounds a lot like Lucy’s skull friend. That’s the kind of thing you wanted to hear about, right George?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Flo,” he replied.

We looked around at each other; our suspicions had been correct. For whatever reason, the remains of the Orpheus Society wanted the skull and had commissioned the Winkman’s to get it for them. And now we had to get it back.


	2. The Exchange

According to Flo, the exchange was being held at a disused block of flats overlooking the Thames the next evening. Holly, George and I sat outside a café, near enough to the flats that it gave us a clear view without it being obvious we were spying. Lockwood and Kipps were waiting in a taxi around the corner, driven by our old friend Jake – the driver who had found George the night he was attacked.

  
“Are you sure we can’t go in George?” I said, tilting down my over-sized sunglasses to eye the block of flats reproachfully. It didn’t look like much, but I guess that was the point. Graffiti covered the walls, many of the windows were broken or boarded up, abandoned plants on balconies had withered and died. According to George, it was the site of a number of hauntings and had therefore been abandoned years ago.

  
George didn’t look up from the newspaper he was hiding behind as he replied to me. “I know you’re eager to reunite with your BFF, Luce –” I scowled at him – “but I want to find out what the Orpheus Society is getting up to without their leader, and that means waiting until the exchange has happened and following them.”

  
“Don’t worry, Lucy,” said Holly, glancing up from the book she was reading to give me a smile. “We’ll get him back, we just have to be patient.”

  
Patience was certainly not my virtue. Every second we spent sitting around doing nothing, I got more and more agitated, itching to take action. We’d already been sat here for over an hour, watching as the surviving Winkman’s had arrived with several burly bodyguards, then as a shiny black car had pulled up and a middle-aged woman, flanked by two men one of whom was carrying a briefcase, got out and went inside. They’d been gone for what felt like forever but was probably only twenty minutes.

  
I tapped my fingers against my leg as it jolted up and down, trying to use up some of my excess energy. It wasn’t working. Just as I was about to jump up and storm the building, George’s plan be damned, the door opened and the woman and her guards came back out, this time with a satchel just the right size for a skull.

 

“Alright, quickly,” George said as the three people across the street moved to get back into the shiny car, “let’s get Lockwood and Quill and follow them.”

  
I waited and kept an eye on the car, while George and Holly ran off to fetch the cab, which pulled up next to the café a minute later.

“They went left,” I told Jake as I hopped into the front seat beside Lockwood. I was expecting him to budge up, but he pulled me onto his lap and fastened the seatbelt around us both, just in time as Jake slammed on the accelerator and jerked us all forward.

  
“So, are you lot planning more heroic deeds then?” said Jake, conversationally as he swerved the taxi through the traffic to set us directly behind the black car that I pointed out to him. “Tearing down more occults?”

  
“Something like that,” Lockwood replied. He had his arms around my waist for added safety from Jake’s manic driving, and I was all too aware of them.

  
“Not had enough of being in the papers, eh?” Jake said as he slammed the car forward as the traffic light threated to change to red and separate us from the black car. Our seatbelts locked and Lockwood’s arms tightened around me. I heard Kipps groan in pain and caught sight of him in the rear-view mirror, clenching at his side with his hand. Holly was rubbing her neck where the seatbelt had jarred it and horns from angry drivers blared around us, but Jake didn’t seem to care all that much.

  
“Well, you can never have enough publicity,” said Lockwood. “Again, thanks for doing this for us, Jake.”

  
“Nah, it’s no problem, Mr Lockwood,” said Jake. “You say these are the geezers who caused Mr Cubbins all that trouble?”

  
“They had something to do with it, yes.”

  
“Frightful thing,” said Jake, sadly. “I tell you, when I saw his body lying there, I thought… Well, no matter.” He glanced up at the rear-view mirror so he could see George sitting in the back-seat between Kipps and Holly. “You’re looking mighty better now, Mr Cubbins.”

  
“All thanks to you, Jake,” said George, gratefully.

  
“Aw, it was nothing. You would’ve done the same for me.”

  
After many painful twists and turns, and small talk with Jake, the black car pulled up next to an old concert hall. It looked as though it had once been a grand place of music and entertainment, but now the windows were shattered and the brickwork was crumbling in places.

  
“Royal Albert Hall,” Jake informed us, sadly. “I remember coming here as a kid once with my dad. Was amazing seeing all the orchestra perform. ‘Course the Problem just got worse and now…” He gave the building one last sad look, before driving around the corner to park so the cab wouldn’t be spotted from inside.

  
With a little reluctance, I hopped off Lockwood’s lap and onto the curb.

  
“Need me to wait for you at all, Mr Lockwood?” Jake asked.

  
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Lockwood replied. “We might be needing a quick get-away.”

  
“Nah, it’s alright,” said Jake. “It’s not too busy at the moment and it’ll give me a chance to get some peace and quiet.”

  
We rounded the cab and collected our rapiers and equipment from the boot; even if there weren’t any ghosts, magnesium flares and swords worked just as well on people, if need be.

  
“Know anything about this place, George?” Lockwood asked as we made our way down the street.

  
George pushed his glasses up his nose and they flashed in the evening sun. “It’s had a few major hauntings over the years, but they’ve all been cleared out now, as far as I know. It’s only the living we have to worry about today.”

  
As we approached the building, I felt the tell-tale psychic thrumming of a spirit-gate nearby. I exchanged eye contact with Lockwood; this was definitely an Orpheus Society base.

  
We circled the building. Most of the entrances were boarded up, but we found a narrow window with the glass completely missing that we managed to squeeze through. Kipps required a bit of help due to his injuries but refused to wait for us outside.

  
After that, it wasn’t hard to track down the woman and the rest of the Society, even without having the follow the psychic hum; the auditorium amplified their voices tenfold.

  
“…I’m telling you, this is a Type 3. If it doesn’t work with this, it won’t work at all…”

  
We crept silently into the main room and crouched behind some seats, doing our best to ignore the persistent buzzing in our heads. Even Kipps, with his lack of Talent, was feeling uncomfortable. I took a moment to marvel at the sheer vastness of the hall, all decked out in red and gold. Stalls and balconies were set in a circle, overlooking a central arena, where I assumed the orchestra had once performed, except now the seating had been ripped up and a huge iron pit, not unlike the one in Fittes House, had been built in the centre. It must have been filled to the brim with sources; I could hear their screaming and hollering from way at the back of the auditorium. There were several members of the Orpheus Society, clad head to toe in silver, milling about around the pit while carrying weaponry, and I recognised a few of them from the candid photos Kipps had taken not so long ago.

  
“That’s strange,” George whispered, staring at the pit, “the bridge doesn’t go all the way across.”

  
He was right; though the light in the spirit-gate was hazy and dim as numerous ghosts swirled around, I could just about make out an iron bridge stretching across the pit, but it only reached a central podium. And that wasn’t the only unusual thing; dozens of wires lead from a huge switch on the wall to the podium in the pit, crisscrossing one another as they curled around it.

  
“If they’re not using it to get to the Other Side, what are they using it for?” I whispered back.

  
A little man stood nearby the bridge. It took me a moment to recognise him, but eventually, it clicked; it seemed the bland-faced Mr Johnson had gone on to bigger and better things after the death of his boss, Steve Rotwell. Except he wasn’t so bland anymore; his face was marred with magnesium burns, courtesy of Lockwood & Co. Somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to feel in the least bit bad about it.

  
Mr Johnson had taken the skull, which was wrapped in silver netting, off of the woman and was currently inspecting it. “And this is the same skull previously belonging to Miss Carlyle?” he was saying.

  
“Had the Winkman’s steal it from right under her nose,” the woman told him, proudly.

  
I felt a sudden surge of anger at her insolence. How dare she steal from me? I wanted to storm down there, punch that stupid woman in the face, steal the skull back, and give Mr Johnson a good kick where the sun doesn’t shine while I was at it.

  
Lockwood, seemingly sensing my fury, took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Not just yet, Luce,” he whispered. “They have weapons. Plus, we need to find out what they’re up to.”

  
With great effort, I remained where I was, bottling up my anger for later when I could actually get my hands on that ridiculous Society. I watched silently as Mr Johnson pulled up the hood of his silver cape and set off across the bridge.

  
It was hard to see through the hazy other-light of trapped spirits, but I could vaguely see as Mr Johnson unwrapped the skull from its silver netting and placed it in the centre of the podium. Another member stood vigilantly by the large switch on the wall. She waited until Mr Johnson was clear of the pit, then she flung the switch down.

  
The static buzzing of the spirit-gate rapidly reached deafening levels and the other-light in the centre suddenly became so bright that we all had to look away, clamping our hands over our ears as we did so. Everyone apart from Kipps who, without his goggles, could barely see or hear the sensory storm raging in the pit, though he still had to squint slightly.

  
The air crackled with electricity and I felt my hair standing on end. From somewhere in the pit, I heard the sound of a terrible scream that seemed somehow horribly familiar.

  
Suddenly, Kipps was shaking my shoulder. I turned to him to see his mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying over the psychic roar in my ears. I shook my head at him. He seemed to understand and said the words more slowly and deliberately, so I could just about read his lips: I – think – I – see – his – ghost.

  
I frowned at him. That was impossible; he wasn’t wearing his goggles so he shouldn’t be able to see any ghosts.

  
I turned to Lockwood and risked taking my hands away from my ears to whip open his coat and reach into the pocket where I knew he kept his sunglasses. I put them on, quickly clamped my hands back over my ears before my eardrums ruptured, and squinted through the stall seats to the pit on the stage. The blare of other-light blurred my vision, but I was able to make out the silhouette of a person standing on the podium. I frowned at it; if this was the skull’s ghost – and he certainly had the right proportions – how was Kipps able to see him without his goggles?

  
Then, before my eyes, the lights in the auditorium flickered; the wiring around the pit hissed and sparked, then, in the blink of an eye, the noise stopped, the other light went out, any psychic activity vanished and, in the centre of the pit, the body of a boy collapsed down onto the podium.


	3. Orpheus and Eurydice

I had had enough. I didn’t care what weird experiment the Orpheus Society had been attempting – it was George’s job to figure that out anyway – these freaks had done something to the skull and I wasn’t about to let them have their way any longer. No one messes with my friends.

  
I stood up, whipped off the sunglasses and thrust them at Lockwood, and stormed down the aisle towards the arena, where the Orpheus Society were too busy arguing and gesticulating towards the pit to even notice me straight away. That was fine by me. By the time they’d realised I was there, I’d already gotten close enough to give Mr Johnson a good, swift kick where it hurts. As he doubled over in pain, I lobbed a magnesium flare right into the centre of their little clubhouse cluster, and they scattered frantically away from the resulting explosion of Greek Fire.

  
I heard the rest of Lockwood & Co. hurtling down towards us and, trusting them to cover my back, I turned and charged across the iron bridge. I didn’t bother with a spirit-cape; whatever the Orpheus Society had done, it seemed to have drained the sources in the pit of their psychic energy. There were no ghosts in sight, just the boy on the podium.

  
It was the skull, alright – I recognised the spiky hair and thin face – except something was different. He was more solid, more detailed. I could make out freckles beneath the street-dirt on his face. It was almost as if…

  
I stepped closer, ignoring the explosions of more magnesium flares and the screams of the Orpheus Society behind me. This wasn’t right. I felt no cold or malaise, no miasma or creeping fear that usually comes with being in close proximity to the dead. I’d never heard of a ghost passing out either. But this was simply impossible.

  
I edged even closer and crouched down beside him. And watched in wonder as his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Slowly, carefully, I reached out a finger and prodded his cheek. It was warm. I pulled my finger back quickly and stared at it; there was no ghost touch in sight.

  
I felt my heart racing in my chest. I reached out and, a little apprehensively, placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Skull?”

  
The youth stirred and groaned. “Lucy?” he said in an ever so familiar voice without opening his eyes. “Where am I?”

  
“Royal Albert Hall,” I told him, gently.

  
He opened his dark eyes blearily and stared up at the vast ceiling. “How did I…? Wait. Don’t tell me. I got stolen, didn’t I?”

  
“Hey!” I protested, all trace of sensitivity gone as I remembered how much he annoyed me at times. “It wasn’t my fault!”

  
“I leave for one minute and you let me get nicked again.”

  
“You were gone for a week!”

  
“Yeah, whatever. Some friend you are.” He pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes. Then stopped and stared down at his hand. “Um…” His dark eyes travelled to his shoulder where my hand was still resting. “This is… an interesting turn of events.”

  
“Yep. It would appear you’re alive,” I told him.

  
“Well, how ‘bout that?” He wiggled his fingers in front of his face experimentally. Then, suddenly, he scowled and huffed in annoyance. “Oh, this is just typical! I finally decide to move on, and some bloody Frankenstein wannabe goes and brings me back to life!”

  
“You were gonna move on?” I said, unable to help the hurt creeping into my voice, despite knowing in my heart he had chosen the right thing.

  
“Well, Luce, I would’ve loved to stay and hang out,” he said, giving me his old grin, “but I figured you’d join me soon enough anyway, so what’s the point?”

  
“I don’t nearly die that often,” I huffed as I helped him to his feet.

  
He patted my head in mock pity. “Of course not.”

  
As I held Skull upright with his arm slung around my shoulder, he looked around us at the fight still raging beyond the pit. “Ooh, quick, Luce,” he said, enthusiastically. “Now’s our chance! While they’re distracted, we can scarper and restart the old ‘Skull and Carlyle’! Our symbol can be a skull in a jar, for old time’s sake.”

  
“I am not leaving my friends to die,” I said, firmly.

  
“Oh, you are just _no_ fun today.”

  
I stared across the bridge towards my friends, who had now used up their supply of flares and were standing defiantly with their backs to the bridge, rapiers drawn.

  
“Did no one tell them you shouldn’t bring swords to a gun fight?” Skull tusked, shaking his head. He had a point. The Society members were carrying numerous fire-arms, all trained on my friends, and rapiers would be no match against them.

  
“Wait here,” I told Skull, unslinging his arm from around my shoulder and running to join my friends.

  
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Lucy! Do you want to die?” Skull called after me, but I ignored him. I drew my rapier and stood steadfast beside Lockwood, ready to go down fighting.

  
“Oh, please,” said Mr Johnson in his annoyingly weedy voice, “do you really think you stand a chance here?”

  
“We’ve managed before,” said Lockwood with a cold smile, his voice unwaveringly calm. His certain tone and the fire dancing in his eyes made us all feel a little braver. He often had that effect.

  
“Circumstances change,” said Mr Johnson. “I’m afraid we really can’t let you go after what you’ve seen today. Especially not with your friend. We aren’t done with him just yet.”

He nodded towards Skull who was now leaning casually against the railing of the bridge, watching us and making no move to get to safety.

  
“You can die now, remember?” I called back to him.

  
“Hence why I’m staying right here and letting you take all the fire, love,” he called back, inspecting his nails with disinterest. I rolled my eyes and turned back to stare down Mr Johnson.

  
“You know, I was wondering about the name,” George mused. “The whole ‘finding the secret to eternal youth’ thing didn’t seem to fit. But bringing back the dead… that’s just was Orpheus did with his wife Eurydice. I must say, the name makes much more sense now.”

  
“Reviving the dead is our primary goal,” Mr Johnson confirmed, “and one we’ve had a lot of trouble with until just recently.” He glanced down at his watch, idly. “But I’m afraid the time for chitchat is over. I think it’s about time we paid Ms Fittes a visit.” He turned to his fellow Society members. “Kill them.”

  
We leapt into action. I dived down just as a stream of electricity shot over my head and hit a seat in the stalls, filling the hall with the stench of burning plastic. I rolled forwards and, as I came up, swept my rapier in an arc, slicing through a man’s wrist and causing him to drop his black, snub-nosed gun. I picked it up and fired a shot at the man, striking him directly in the chest with a jet of electricity, blasting him back so he smashed through a row of seats. I then trained the gun on the woman who had done the exchange, who was currently aiming at Holly with a harpoon gun. I fired, and the woman hurtled over the stalls, her gun crashing to the ground, which Holly then picked up and threw to George.

  
Nearby, Lockwood was ducking and weaving with graceful fluidity around the blasts of electric guns, aiming to get close enough to use his rapier. Kipps had somehow managed to break off the back of a nearby seat and was using it as a shield as George stood behind him, firing harpoons left, right and centre. Honestly, with George’s aiming skills, it would have been a lot safer if Holly had tossed the gun to Kipps instead, but no matter; she had managed to acquire another electric gun, by way of a well-aimed kick, and had joined George and Kipps.

  
I felt a thrill looking around me, at our beautiful array of seamless teamwork. It was times like these when Lockwood & Co. truly felt like a united unit, ready to take on the world. It was also times like these that things tended to go horribly wrong.

  
Mr Johnson decided to join the fight. He had retrieved a gun off his own, one that fired ghost bombs.

  
A silvery glass bulb shattered at my feet and the spectre of a woman, clothed in rags with her mouth sliced open into a gruesome smile, appeared before me, reaching out with bony fingers. Automatically, I sliced her through with my rapier. Her image flickered and reappeared only a few feet back.

  
All around me, ghost bombs shattered and Visitors rose up from their sources. The air grew bitterly cold and my breath puffed out in front of me. Malaise fogged my head, fear crept into my heart, my limbs grew heavy with ghost-lock. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kipps hurriedly putting on his goggles. Numerous spectral voices whispered in my head.

  
“... _cold… so cold…_ ”

  
“ _… come back… please come back… my little girl…_ ”

  
“ _… I can’t… I can’t breathe…_ ”

  
“ _… give us a smile… you look prettier when you smile…_ ”

  
Mr Johnson had done his job; we were scattered and distracted, frantically swiping through Visitors with our rapiers, unable to keep an eye on the Orpheus Society and their guns.

  
I heard an electric gun go off. Heard holly scream. I whipped around to see her gripping her arm. I fired the gun I was still holding at the man who had shot her, and Lockwood cut through a wraith that was coming towards her.

  
My gun was still raised, I was still facing Holly, so I didn’t have time to react when I heard the gun go off behind me.

  
“LUCY!” I heard Lockwood scream. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the pain. But none came. I turned around to see the silver-tipped harpoon hovering in the air right at eye-level before it clattered harmlessly to the floor.

Cold air brushed my ear. I turned, raising my rapier to fight the grinning spectre off again, but a mighty gust of spirit-wind caught her source – a cracked, hand-held mirror – and blew it into the iron pit, forcing the ghost with it.

  
I turned to the pit to see Skull stepping idly off the bridge.

“You still have ghost powers?!” I screamed. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

  
Skull shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

  
“YOU ABSOLUTE –”

  
“Hold on a sec,” Skull interrupted. He raised a finger and a broken seat rose into the air and hurtled at a man who had been aiming a gun towards George and Kipps. The gun flew out of his hand as he careened backwards out of the arena, crashing down onto a row of seats which splintered beneath his weight. “Ooh, that’s gotta hurt.”

  
Okay, I guess I couldn’t complain when he was saving my friends. But still, he was so annoying sometimes.

  
“This is impossible!” Mr Johnson roared as Skull created a whirlwind that swept up the other sources and hurled them into the pit.

  
“Guess you still have some kinks to sort out!” Skull hollered at him, gleefully.

  
“YOU LITTLE –” Mr Johnson grabbed a gun off the floor, aimed it at Skull and pulled the trigger.

  
“Skull!” I screamed, but I needn’t have worried. Skull simply stepped to the side and the jet of electricity merely grazed his arm.

  
Skull seemed faintly taken aback at the scratch on his arm. He pressed a finger to it and pulled back to look at the blood. “Huh…” Then he seemed to remember Mr Johnson. He raised a hand and Mr Johnson’s gun suddenly jerked backwards, smacking him right between the eyes. He swayed on the spot for a moment, cross-eyed, then crumpled to the ground in a heap.

  
The auditorium was silent for a moment, aside from the whispering of the newly trapped ghosts in the pit, and we stared around at the last dregs of the Orpheus Society, slumped, charred and unconscious.

  
“That was fun!” Skull announced, coming up behind me and slinging his arm around my shoulders. “Honestly, I have _missed_ beating up people.”

  
“You stink like a Victorian street urchin,” I told him, wiggling out of his grasp.

  
“I am a Victorian street urchin,” he reminded me. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”

  
I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “Thank you,” I said. “And sorry for letting you get nicked again.”

  
“Just so long as you always come find me,” he said, shrugging.

  
George was staring at Skull in wonder. “You are literally a miracle of science!” he enthused. “I wonder why you’re still somehow connected to the other side. I mean, you’re like a living ghost! Was it because you were already a powerful ghost? Or because the power supply failed? Or did they use too many sources? I have so many experiments I want to try out!”

  
“Come anywhere near me, Cubbins,” Skull said, coldly, “and I’ll remove your head, stick it in a jar, and perform torturous experiments on your ghost every. Single. Day.”

  
George looked a little uncomfortable at that.

  
“First things first,” said Lockwood, looking around at the mess after leading Kipps and Holly over to some still-intact seats, “I think we’d better contact DEPRAC.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't write nearly enough Locklyle in this chapter. But worry not! The next chapter will have much Locklyle and Holly's gf and George's mum and Skulluce being BFFs, so look forward to that!


	4. New Member

DEPRAC arrived sooner than expected; it turned out Jake had heard the cacophony of explosions and gunfire from his cab and contacted them. They had brought ambulances with them, and paramedics were now tending to Holly’s arm and Kipps, who had managed to rip some of his stitches.

  
“You lot just can’t keep out of trouble, can you?” said Barnes, grumpily.

  
“You know us, Inspector!” Lockwood said, cheerfully.

  
Barnes gave an illegible grumble, then raised an eyebrow at Skull who was slouching in the seat on my left. Barnes looked him up and down and grimaced. I could understand his disgust; aside from Skull’s ragged clothes and bare feet, he was covered in grime and his hair seemed to be spiked with mud and grease, obscuring its natural colour. “New member?” he asked.

  
“Yes!” Lockwood announced. “This is…”

  
“Jim!” George supplied, and I felt Skull tense up beside me.

  
Barnes nodded with a sigh. “Good luck, Jim,” he said, before moving off to deal with the arrests.

  
I turned to George. “Jim?”

  
“Oh! Didn’t I tell you?” said George, shooting a grin at the Skull who glowered in return. “I did some research into Bickerstaff’s associates after we found out what our good friend really looked like. He matched the description of a serving boy named Jim Walker. Sound familiar, Jim?”

  
‘Jim’ crossed his arms and muttered something that was most likely death threats.

  
“’Jim’,” I repeated, laughing; I had a feeling he’d never really forgotten his name.

  
“What’s wrong with ‘Jim’?” Skull demanded.

  
“Nothing,” I said, still snickering. “I just figured you’d have a cool name, like ‘Dexter’ or ‘Sebastian’ or something.”

  
“Your taste in names is questionable,” he told me. “And what about Jim Moriarty?!”

  
“Pretty sure he went by ‘James’,” I replied. “Plus, he had a cool surname. Yours is kind of common. Just ’Walker’.”

  
“Jimothy Walker,” said Lockwood, grinning gleefully.

  
“Jimbob Walker,” George added, snorting.

  
“I could kill you both in a second,” Skull reminded them, shortly. They shut up pretty quick after that.

  
Holly wandered over to us, her arm now bandaged and in a sling, and took a seat next to George.

“They’ve taken Quill to hospital,” she informed us, “and I have to check in tomorrow, but I’ve managed to get away for now.”

  
There was suddenly a shout from across the room. “Holly! What have they done to you?!”

  
A girl in a DEPRAC uniform and a midnight blue Hijab ran over and flung herself down next to Holly, gently taking her hands.

  
Holly laughed. “I’m fine, babe. Nothing to worry about.” She turned to the rest of us. “Hey, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Rani. Rani, these are my colleagues from Lockwood & Co.”

  
“I’ve heard all about you!” said Rani, smiling broadly at us. “Lockwood, Lucy and George, right? And… uh…”

  
“This is Jim,” I said, patting Skull’s leg as he gave me a dirty look. “He’s new.”

  
“Lovely to meet you, Jim,” Rani said, oblivious to the death glare Skull was shooting her way. “Anyway –” She turned back to Holly – “I’ve got to go, babe. You’ve caused _such_ a mess.”

  
“Hey!” Holly protested. “That wasn’t all my fault!”

  
“Sure,” said Rani, tusking jokily as she got up to leave. “But just so you know, if you get into any more fights, I’m gonna have to divorce you.”

  
“We’re not married!” Holly called after her, laughing.

  
Rani turned back to her, just before she disappeared back into the crowd of DEPRAC operatives, and cupped her hands over her mouth. “One day, babe!” she called.

  
Holly leant back in her seat with a stupid grin on her face and rosy cheeks. It was nice to see her so happy. I wondered if I’d ever have a relationship like that, then I blushed at the thought; Lockwood was sitting on my right, his knee pressed against my leg, his hand set casually between us so his fingers brushed mine.

  
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Holly,” Lockwood mused.

  
“Lockwood, I told you about her, remember?” Holly chided. “When you asked me if I wanted to move in and I said, ‘no thanks, I’m living with my girlfriend’.”

  
“Ohh,” said Lockwood. “You meant you were living with your _girlfriend_ , not _female friend_.”

  
“Lockwood…” Holly started, then sighed and rolled her eyes.

  
“Always oblivious, this one,” said Skull.

  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lockwood demanded.

  
“Oh, nothing.”

  
“Are you not weirded out by two girls in a relationship?” I asked, suddenly curious.

  
“Oh, please,” said Skull. “Like we didn’t have lesbians in the old days.”

 

* * *

 

We got home a little after 9 pm, after a lot of questioning from DEPRAC, lying from us, and George running off for some reason.

 

“Oh,” said George, just as I was about to push open the door, “I should probably mention, I called my mum to meet us here.”

  
“What? Why?” I exclaimed. George’s mum was lovely and everything, but to be honest, after the day I’d had, I just wanted to relax with my friends.

  
“Well, she’s a doctor, remember?” George answered. “I figured she could give Jim a little check-up. Make sure everything’s tip-top. He did just come back from the dead after all.”

  
“This is for your scientific research, isn’t it?” Skull groaned.

  
“Might have something to do with that.”

  
“Fine,” said Skull. “Let’s just get this over with. I can always smother you in your sleep later.”

  
I pushed open the door, ignoring George’s squeak of protest, and was immediately met with the shrill shriek of Mrs Cubbins as she bustled into the hallway. “Oh, you kids! Always getting into scraps! Let me look at you.” She took George’s face in her hands and tusked. “Oh, darling! Those bruises still look awful! My poor baby…” She bundled him into a tight hug.

  
“Mum…” George moaned.

  
“And just look at the state of this place!” Mrs Cubbins scolded, releasing George and gesturing around at the mess. “I’ll have to stay the night and clean up in the morning!”

  
“ _Mum_ …” George tried again.

  
“Lockwood, you’re looking skinny. And Holly! Look at your arm, you poor thing. Lucy, sweetheart, I hope you’re looking after them?”

  
“Doing my best, Mrs Cubbins,” I replied as she gave us all squeezes in quick succession.

  
Finally, Mrs Cubbins turned to Skull, who was trying unsuccessfully to hide behind me. “And you must be Jim,” she said, pushing her thick-rimmed glasses up her nose in a manner very much like her son. “Used to be a ghost, hmm?”

  
“That’s the one,” said George. “We used to keep his skull in a jar.”

  
Mrs Cubbins gave him a side eye. “I hope you weren’t cruel to him.”

  
George forced a laugh. “No, of course not.”

  
“He put me in the oven once,” said Skull, helpfully.

  
“George!” Mrs Cubbins scolded, and her son had the good grace to look a little guilty. “Right, well,” she said, turning back to Skull, “why don’t we go into the living room and take a look at you? I’ve already set up in there. George, you can go and clean out your desk while I’m gone. There were maggots in the drawers! I’ve told you not to leave food lying around.”

  
George groaned but went off to sort out his desk, dragging a reluctant Holly with him to help.

  
“Be nice,” I told Skull as he passed me to follow Mrs Cubbins into the living room.

  
“When am I not?” he replied. The door closed behind them, leaving me alone with Lockwood.

  
“So, I have some news,” Lockwood announced, as we moved into the kitchen. “Barnes mentioned it to me just before we left. They’re building a gallery where Fittes House used to be, to show the history of the Problem, and they’re naming it after me! I would have suggested the ‘Lockwood & Co. Gallery’, but I guess I didn’t have a say.”

  
“Well, the ‘Anthony Lockwood Gallery’ has a nice ring to it,” I said, grinning at him. I was genuinely thrilled for him; he’d always wanted a name for himself, and now he’d have a whole building named after him for years to come. And he deserved it; he had solved the mystery of the Problem, after all. “That’s amazing news, Lockwood. I’m so proud of you!”

  
Lockwood rubbed the back of his neck, shyly. “I just… I wanted you to be the first to know. None of this could have happened without you, Luce. You really are amazing, you know?”

  
And, as I gazed up at his face with that beautiful sparkle in his eyes and a sheepish, lopsided smile that could put the sun to shame, I couldn’t help myself. Maybe it was the excitement of the day, with the last dregs of adrenaline still in my veins, or the joy of having the skull back, if not quite how I expected, or the relief that everyone had gotten out safely, if a little worse for wear. Whatever it was, somehow it gave me courage. So, I reached up, grabbed Lockwood’s collar to tug him down, and kissed him. And he kissed me back almost immediately, smiling against my mouth and wrapping his arms around my waist to tug me closer. My heart pounded in my chest as I reached up and I ran my fingers through his hair, standing on tiptoes to get a better angle.

  
Then we heard the front door open and leapt apart.

  
“Managed to get discharged early,” Kipps announced as he waltzed into the kitchen and took a seat. He really had a knack for interrupting at the worst time. “Stitches all sorted now! Though, not gonna lie, _little_ bit buzzed on pain meds right now.” He looked at us and raised an eyebrow at our ruffled hair, flushed faces, and swollen lips. “Did I interrupt something?”

  
“What? No, no, no, not at all!” Lockwood blundered, frantically running a hand through his hair to neaten it up. I felt a strange thrill at seeing him so flustered and I made a mental note to do that more often.

  
Kipps raised an unconvinced eyebrow at us and was about to say something when George and Holly returned from the office.

  
“There!” George declared. “Maggots all taken care of. Mum should be happy!”

  
Holly gave a shudder. “Never let your desk get like that again.”

  
We heard the living room door open and, a moment later, Skull walked in and headed straight for the cupboards. He shoved a few biscuits in his mouth, eyed a packet of Holly’s dried fruit before chucking it over his shoulder, then opened the fridge and downed some milk from the carton. I would have scolded him, but I guess he hadn’t eaten anything in decades, so I let him off.

  
Mrs Cubbins entered a moment later and dropped her Doctor’s bag on the table before gathering us all around her, leaving Skull to continue demolishing our food supply.

“Well, everything seems to be alright,” she announced. “His temperatures a few degrees lower than normal, but everything else seems fine, so I put that down to his connection with the Other Side. Also –” She lowered her voice – “there was some scarring on his back. I think he may have been abused, poor thing.” She shot him a sad look before straightening and moving over to the counter, where she began bustling around, making us something to eat.

  
I glanced across at Skull, who was currently digging through the freezer, and felt my stomach twist unpleasantly.

  
“That’s awful,” Holly murmured.

  
“It would have been pretty normal in those days,” said Kipps. “Discipline and whatnot.”

  
“That doesn’t make it alright,” said Lockwood, grimacing.

  
“Who would’ve done that to him?” I asked.

  
“Most likely Bickerstaff,” said George, removing his glasses to wipe them on his jumper.

  
“That can’t be right,” I said. “He idolised him.”

  
“Ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?” said George. I felt my stomach twist again.

  
“What are you lot whispering about?” Skull called to us with his mouth full.

  
“Oh, we were just talking about you behind your back,” I told him casually, ignoring the sick feeling of pity in my chest; he wouldn’t appreciate it.

  
“Rude,” said Skull. “If you’re gonna insult me, you do it to my face.”

  
“Fine,” I said. “We were just saying you should take a bath. You’re kind of gross.”

  
“That’s more like it,” said Skull. “Also, no. I’m still scarred from my last bath.”

  
“Ah, yes,” I said. “Forgot about that.”

  
“What’s this about?” Holly questioned.

  
“George took a bubble-bath with the skull,” said Lockwood.

  
“It was an experiment!” George exclaimed as Holly gave him a horrified look. “And, in my defence, we didn’t know he was sentient at the time!”

  
“Let me tell you, bubbles only cover so much,” Skull said, darkly. “I have seen things I can’t unsee.”

  
“You’re not scarred from taking a shower, though, are you?” I said.

  
“Oh, I forgot those are a thing now,” said Skull. “Always wondered what those were like.”

  
I allowed Holly to take Skull upstairs to show him how to work the shower, after firmly telling him not to try and kill her.

  
“Poor thing,” Mrs Cubbins said again as they left.

  
“Mum, please don’t adopt the skull,” said George.

  
“He has a name, George” Mrs Cubbins chided.

  
“Sorry. Please don’t adopt Jimbob,” George corrected.

  
When Holly returned, she joined us all in helping Mrs Cubbins prepare home-made pizza, and if a little flour or pizza sauce happened to hit a few people in the face, it totally wasn’t my fault.

  
Kipps sat out due to his fresh stitches, and chatted to us about a lot of things, occasionally going off on a tangent, which I put down to his slight morphine-induced high.

  
“…and I couldn’t see it at first, but his body just got more solid around the skull, and I thought it was weird that I could see it without my goggles, but now we know why. Skulls are so weird, though. Cos, like, your brain’s inside it, so you’re actually inside a skeleton, not the other way around. Also, the teeth are part of the skull, but they’re outside the body. Surreal…”

  
I tuned out Kipps’s rambling and thought about Skull. There was still so much I didn’t know about him: his childhood, what happened to his family, why he chose to save me and Lockwood… I wouldn’t question him just yet, though; he needed time to settle down. To get used to living again.

  
I heard the sound of the shower cutting off and the floorboards creaking as Skull moved around upstairs. A few minutes later, the stairs creaked and Skull stepped into the kitchen. And we stared. Because, beneath all the grime and dirt, Skull was, I had to admit, cute. The filth had been washed out of his hair revealing dark, chocolatey locks that were damp and tousled and just beginning to curl. His face had a healthy, olive complexion, as opposed to the grey of his ghostly counterpart, and was adorned by numerous freckles. It made me wonder what Flo looked like beneath all the sludge.

  
Kipps cleared his throat. “You, err, scrub up well.”

  
“I know your sexuality is ambiguous at best, Kipps, but keep it in your pants,” Skull said, causing Kipps to splutter and George to snicker.

  
“Are those my clothes?” Lockwood blurted.

  
Skull looked down at the soft grey hoody and pale blue jeans he was wearing. “Yeah. Took me forever to find clothes in there that weren’t all poncy. Do you purposely buy all your shirts two sizes too small?” Lockwood flushed and Skull didn’t wait for him to answer. “Besides, it was either you or George.”

  
“Fair enough,” said Lockwood.

  
“The pizza’s just gone in the oven, Jim, dear,” Mrs Cubbins said. “It will be ready soon.”

  
Skull shrugged and wandered off. I let the others handle tidying up and went after him. I followed him all the way up to my little attic bedroom, where he went to stand by the window, leaning on the windowsill where his old jar used to sit, staring out across the street. I leant against the wall next to him.

  
“I’ve never had pizza before,” he told me after a moment. “Never had a lot of things.”

  
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll love it.”

  
We stood silently for a moment, watching the ghost-lamp flash on and off.

  
“So,” Skull said, eventually, “you and Lockwood, eh?”

  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, feeling my face flush.

  
“Oh, come on! There have been some obvious developments. He keeps looking at you like a love-sick puppy. Give him a good snog at last?”

  
“I don’t need to answer that.”

  
“Ooh, you did!” Skull said, grinning at me and nudging me with his elbow. “About time, too.”

  
“Oh, shut up,” I told him, looking away so he couldn’t see how red my face had gone.

  
“Don’t be like that! You’ve gotta give me all the juicy details. Did you use –”

  
“How does it feel?” I blurted, suddenly. Skull raised his eyebrows questioningly. “To be alive again?” I finished.

  
Skull sighed and turned back to stare out of the window. “It’s… I dunno. Thrilling? Exciting? Exhausting? Has its ups and downs. Having bodily functions again is weird. Can’t do the Happy Farmhand anymore, either. That’s a bummer.”

  
“Do you wish you’d stayed dead?” I said, quietly.

  
He glanced across at me and something flickered in his eyes, then he gave me his familiar grin. “Nah. I’ll be dead again soon enough, anyway. And this is what I wanted. To live again. Might as well make the most of it. How many people get a second chance?”

  
“You’ll stay, then?” I said, eagerly. “Join Lockwood & Co.?”

  
Skull hummed in thought. “I mean, I could kill you all and become a street urchin again… but I do kinda like the hot water and constant access to food.”

  
“So, you’ll stay?”

  
Skull shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, I guess.”

  
I suppose I was still kind of buzzed from the day's events, but whatever. I lurched forward and flung my arms around his neck.

  
“Alright, alright. Don’t get soppy on me, Carlyle.” But even as he said it, he was hugging me back.

  
Neither of us were willing to let go, I guess because I was so glad to have my friend here in the flesh, not just a glass jar and a voice in my head, and he had been starved of human contact for decades. Whatever the case, we stood like that for a long time.

  
I had my face buried in his shoulder so my voice came out muffled. “I never thanked you. For saving me and Lockwood. Even though your source could have been destroyed.”

  
“Meh, it was nothing. You still had your life to live,” he replied. “Besides, what are best friends for?”

  
And as we stood there, in the room we’d shared for years, holding each other close until Mrs Cubbins called us down for dinner, I didn’t bother denying it. Because, despite our constant arguing and his incessant ramblings and my threats to bury his jar in the yard, I guess he was my best friend after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin!  
> Someone please tell me why I am incapable of not including at least a little bit of angst? Coz damn.  
> Anyway, ngl, this whole thing was just me wanting to give the skull a hug, so I had to get Luce to do it for me. Some people would say to me 'Rowan, do you perhaps love the skull a bit too much? He is kinda a psychopath.' And I would say unto them, yeah probably.


End file.
